


Never Seen You Look Like This Before

by Miss_M



Series: Surviving the Nightlife [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Feels, Femdom, References to Drugs, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Surviving the Nightlife. In which things escalate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Seen You Look Like This Before

**Author's Note:**

> Newcomers, I urge you to read Surviving the Nightlife (the first fic in this series) first to get the most out of this fic. Returning readers, welcome and enjoy! Title is from “The Pleasure Song” by Marianne Faithfull. Only the smut is owned by me.

“Brienne, why would I want some sweating, hulking guy in my bed when I have you?” Jaime asked as patiently as he could. 

He seriously did not want to be having this conversation again. Brienne used the fact that she was the one in charge of the mouse – because she insisted he kept clicking on items they would never use just to see how outlandish they looked when he zoomed in on the pictures – to keep her eyes on the computer screen and not respond. Except insofar as she turned an even deeper shade of pink, of course. Jaime estimated that she would be bright crimson before five more minutes had elapsed. 

He leaned in very deliberately and spoke right into her ear. “For the sixteenth time, this isn’t about me wanting to experiment with men. This isn’t about me wanting to experiment with anyone but you. Which you bloody well know, so stop trying to talk me and yourself out of it. _You_ brought this up in the first place, remember?”

The pink deepened, started to shade into magenta down her throat and chest. Jaime was certain that if he reached under her T-shirt he’d find her pebbling with embarrassment but also the memory of a recent _interesting_ night on their couch. 

“Ah,” he murmured into her ear, watching the wash of warm blood under her skin, listening to her breath hitch a little. “You do remember. What a relief.” He pointed at the screen. “I like the purple.”

Brienne moved the cursor away from the purple item. “I think the green would be better,” she said neutrally, as though they were discussing the benefits of aubergines over zucchinis. 

“No, the purple.”

“The green’s smaller.”

“Brienne, did I say to you way back when ‘Oh no, I should only use my fingers, they’re smaller. Maybe you can’t handle my cock’?” 

She glanced at him, then back at the screen. A minute shake of the head was all the response he got. 

“That’s right. I used both. So what you need to remember…” Jaime nipped at her long neck, the skin heated and moist, in a way he knew would render her unable to object to just about anything. “What you need to remember is that you’ve already used your fingers, and now you’re ready and I’m ready for you to fuck me five ways from Sunday.” He pointed at the screen again. “With the purple.” 

Brienne’s face attained true crimson. She heaved a resigned sigh and clicked to place the purple strap-on into the shopping cart. Jaime grinned and nuzzled her while she checked out and paid for overnight shipping – Jaime insisted on that – and complained unconvincingly that he was being a nuisance and a pest. 

“Of course I am,” he replied, spinning her around in her office chair and sliding his hands under her shirt to find, yes, her nipples already hardening, wanting attention. “We’ve got all this time until tomorrow night to kill.” 

When Brienne arrived home from her shift the following day, Jaime had made sure she saw it right away, sitting on the coffee table in its plain white box. He had even strewn the table with rose petals and chocolate pralines as though it were the bed in the cheesier kind of honeymoon hotel. He was in the kitchen making dinner, whistling and pretending that nothing whatsoever was out of the ordinary, except that he never whistled, and did it very badly. Brienne was a lovely shade of pink when she came into the kitchen and kissed him hello. They ate dinner and drank wine and chatted about their day while it sat in the other room, waiting for them. 

Finally Jaime had had enough. He snatched Brienne’s glass out of her hand over her protests, emptied the dregs into the sink, then backed out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, snatched up the box and kept backing toward the bedroom, beckoning her along with a crooked index finger and his most sinful smile. The invisible tether between them pulled her after him. 

Brienne insisted on undressing and strapping the thing on in the bathroom. Jaime shook his head at this renewed bout of shyness, but didn’t object. She emerged finally, her shoulders hunched, her whole body held as though she thought if she clenched up and turned her limbs inward, it would somehow distract from the bright purple fake cock strapped onto her pelvis. 

Jaime sat up on their bed, the pleasant thoughts which already had him half hard momentarily forgotten. “Brienne,” he said. “Come here, love.” 

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, avoiding his eye, as though this were their first time. Actually their first time had been on the couch, and she had been nervous, but not like this, not with this cold dread evident in every line of her large body. Jaime sat behind her, so he could embrace her and press himself against her back, skin to skin. He cupped her breast, wound his other arm around her waist, like he sometimes did when she’d had a bad day chasing rapists and murderers, and needed to be held, to forget. 

“We don’t have to do it, Brienne,” he told her softly, truthfully. “I think I’ll live without having you…”

“No,” she interrupted. “No, I want to. I mean, I’d like to. I just…” She turned her head away from him. Her voice was so small he almost couldn’t hear her. “I feel ludicrous,” she whispered. 

Jaime exhaled. He had worked hard to convince Brienne that his interest in her was not just an elaborate practical joke stretched out over many months. The last thing he wanted was to go back to the days when she had felt so insecure she’d kept asking if her touching his cock was all right or if his sighs while he was inside her meant he was bored. He wanted, not for the first time, to find the people who had convinced her nobody could ever want her, and beat them to a bloody, teeth-spitting pulp, but that was a fantasy for another night. Right now, he had to convince her to face him and kiss him and fuck him to both their heart’s delight. 

“You know,” he said conversationally, stroking the soft skin of her waist, squeezing her small breast gently. “I’m the luckiest son of a bitch alive. Because I got to be your first. Your first everything, your first _everywhere_.” She flushed at the emphasis he placed on the last word, as he had intended she should, for he knew her blushes well enough to recognize that this was not a flush of embarrassment or shame. She breathed more deeply in his arms. 

He kissed her shoulder, her neck. “The only thing that could make that even better, would be if you were my first _something_. And there’s only one thing I can think of that’s left. I didn’t even know it, but I was waiting for you, with your handcuffs and your sudden bouts of inspiration.”

Brienne turned her head to look at him, her eyes limpid and clear. He smiled and kissed her, just a brush of lips, for reassurance and desire. “Also, who knew purple was your color?” he murmured against her mouth. 

She snorted and kissed him back. “I still think we should have gone with the green,” she said as Jaime lay back and pulled her down on top of him. “It was less… demanding, and it matched your eyes perfectly.” 

Jaime had to laugh at that. He was pleasantly squashed by Brienne’s weight, kissing her, feeling her heat up against him as though he had reached inside and turned up a thermostat in her bloodstream. Her hands stroked down his sides and reached between them. Fumbled with the fake cock for a moment, making them both laugh, then _oh yes_. He let his head fall back and enjoyed her attentions for a bit, before he reached down between them as well. The strap-on had a sort of nub for the woman’s pleasure, but Jaime was not going to pass up the opportunity to slide his fingers inside Brienne, caress her with his thumb, feel her breath skip, her lips gone briefly slack and wet on his shoulder. He enjoyed how she started to breathe faster when he licked his fingers clean, pretending he didn’t notice what the sight was doing to her. 

Very soon she pressed him back, her hands firm on his shoulders. Instinctively she went to straddle him until she caught sight of the purple object between them, jutting proudly and anomalously like an advertisement for the wonders of plastic next to Jaime’s own engorged cock. Brienne’s eyes met Jaime’s over the two, and they both giggled again. Then Brienne placed her large hands on Jaime’s thighs and spread his legs wide, calm, tender and no-nonsense. He felt suddenly nervous, nigh terrified as she knelt between his legs and reached into the bedside drawer. He closed his eyes and told himself to relax, that his heart was hammering only because he was so turned on. 

He opened his eyes to find Brienne frowning at her hand, willing the lube in her palm to warm up faster. The hard knot of nerves in his stomach unraveled into a pleasant, spreading warmth at the sight. He really was a lucky son of a bitch, and a bloody idiot for worrying about anything where Brienne was concerned. He sat up, smirking at her questioning expression, and sucked her nipples so she gasped and gripped his hair with her free hand. 

“Is this good for you? Or do you want me on my hands and knees?” he teased, half hoping she would say yes, imagining her reaction to the sight of him like that, all long back, lean thighs and tight buttocks offered up to her. Would she have as hard a time keeping herself in check as he did when she knelt for him? 

“I think you should stay as you are,” she replied after a moment’s serious consideration. Jaime smiled and lay back. 

When she reached between his legs, fingers warm and light on his balls, dipping lower to get him ready, he let himself just enjoy the sensation, already familiar. Her hand nearly jerked away from him, startled at his first sigh of pleasure. He smiled and stroked Brienne’s cheek before he wrapped his hand around the strap-on and stroked it so the nub ground into her, an extension of his fingers. Brienne’s eyelids drifted shut, she bit her lip on a moan, her fingers inside him echoing the rhythm he set. 

But they weren’t there to slowly stroke each other to climax. Brienne slipped her fingers out of Jaime and cupped the backs of his knees, her fingers pressing with quiet insistence. He lifted and spread and waited. He had a long moment to consider she may have been right, they should have gone with the green, as his breath came in short, sharp gasps and he couldn’t seem to relax. Brienne was caressing his chest, his stomach with worried, feather-light fingertips, then she leaned in and kissed him. Or let him kiss her, rather, let his tongue into her mouth like she let him inside herself sometimes, content to cling to him while he rutted with desperate need. Jaime kissed her, not having realized he was so hungry for her mouth, and as he kissed her his breathing eased, he relaxed and pressed closer to her, and she slid all the way inside him. 

She kissed his throat, his chest while he got used to the sensation, sweat already sliding down his temples, dripping into his hair and onto the pillow. He was stretched and on the verge of discomfort, but Brienne was only moving her hands and mouth on him, until he sighed deeply and lifted his legs higher to hook his heels behind her back. Then she kissed him one more time, knelt over him, and got a firm, tender grip on his hips. And began to fuck him. 

At first she kept trying to roll her hips as she would if she were astride him, but she soon got the hang of it. Jaime knew with blinding clarity what it could feel like for her, the terror and exhilaration of surrender, on her back under him, completely in his power, while he thrust and stroked and rolled his hips to make her moan and whimper for more. He wrapped his right hand around his cock while he caressed her with his left, stroking her neck, her breasts. He tried to match his hand strokes to her fuck strokes, even as he saw her force herself to go slow, to ease him through it. She rocked into him slowly, her labored breathing and tightly clenched eyelids telling him she wanted more, wanted to take him and work him till she lifted him off the mattress, till her name was all he could remember and he’d feel her inside him all the next day. He knew that desire well, too. 

_You want me to show you how a woman can feel, don’t you?_ Jaime had teased her the first time she had come to his apartment. He hadn’t gotten further that night than unzipping her trousers and fingering her till she came, and having her palm him briefly through his jeans while she kissed him, but the words echoed in his head now, while his hand squeezed his cock so veins stood out along it and the smoother, plastic cock stretched him and filled him, a slow give and take, Brienne’s thighs making wet, slapping noises against his flesh. 

He didn’t feel like a woman. He felt like Brienne was fucking him _almost_ to both their heart’s delight, but he was going to explode if she didn’t stop treating him like something fragile, which she was still doing, if barely. 

“Brienne,” he gasped, pinching her nipple sharply to get her attention. “Me too, Brienne.” Words he’d said to her before, though never like this. Words to reassure, to confirm the love and trust and care and want she’d fumbled to express. “Stop holding back. You want this. Me too.” 

She stilled, breathing heavily through her nose, her eyes filmed over with a savage, fierce desire he recognized, for he had felt it coursing, pulsing through him many times. Brienne licked her lips, nodded, caressed his hips for confirmation, and Jaime caressed her face in response. Then they were out there, in the wild, and she was riding him like she owned him, pounding him like he existed for her pleasure alone. She gripped his hips almost painfully, her breath a staccato of heedless want. Jaime guessed that the sight of him taking it, flushed and sweating with his legs around her, felt at least as good as the nub grinding into her with each thrust. His hand could barely keep up with her. 

Brienne threw her head back, her mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy, no breath left in her as her whole body arched into the movement of her hips. A unique shade of pink, the flush of deep arousal spread over her chest, up her neck, making her freckles stand out, clustered on her breasts like clumps of stars, her nipples gone dark, almost red. It was all Jaime could do to keep his eyes open a moment longer, to drink in the sight of her, out of control and triumphant. _She’s fucking me_ , he felt more than thought, felt it where the friction was almost burning, where she wrenched gasping, blinding pleasure from his body with every sharp stroke, where he was taken, had, hers. Then a concentrate of liquid fire spread through him, over his hand and stomach, and he was clenching so hard he was certain she could feel it, even though no flesh with nerve endings connected them. 

She nearly collapsed on top of him, her knees gone all wobbly and her arms without strength to hold her up as she pulled out of him, her hand shaky on the purple plastic. Jaime’s legs were still around her waist, and he used what little leverage and focus he still had to fell Brienne onto her side next to him in a billow of sheets and pillows. 

Brienne’s hand on his chest brought him back to himself. She looked worried. 

“How do you feel?” she asked anxiously. Just when he thought she’d run out of odd and unnecessary things to ask during or after sex, like checking if it bored him to fuck her. She was still talking, a tumble of nervous words. “You should check and make sure, you might be hurt, I got a little rough toward the end…”

Jaime covered her mouth with his fingers. “Brienne,” he said as calmly as he could, still quite breathless and feeling wonderfully warm and loose-limbed, and a little sore. “I’m more than fine. And you’re a born top. It’s a fact of life. Deal with it.”

She swallowed, her lips dry under his fingertips, her eyes round and shiny. “Yes, well,” she muttered. “We’ll see what you say next time, when I can’t see your face to gauge things even a little bit.” Then she blushed a perfect scarlet at her own words and buried her face in her hands, groaning, while Jaime laughed and laughed and pulled her close to kiss her temple, the only part of her face not covered by her ( _sweaty, sticky_ ) hands. 

“One of these days we’ll have to have a long sit-down chat about all these fantasies you haven’t been sharing,” he half teased, half promised. “A _very_ long sit-down chat. Who will be sitting on whom remains to be determined.” That earned him a playful slap on the arm. “I’ll promise you one thing, though,” he said, undoing the straps around her waist and removing the purple toy so he could hug Brienne closer, skin flush with skin. “I may have had just a taste, but I’m certain this is the only drug I’ll be craving in the future.” 

Brienne uncovered her face. “That is so immensely corny, even for you.” 

Jaime gave her a hicky in retaliation, making as much noise sucking on the soft skin of her long, thick neck as he could. 

She squealed and laughed. “I do have a few fantasies you don’t know about,” she confessed, almost shyly, yet with a slight knowing smile. 

“Yet. I don’t about _yet_.” 

She was smiling with all her teeth now, unselfconscious and blissful and only his. “Yes. _Yet_.”


End file.
